


Getting There

by superagentwolf



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, BAMF Prompto Argentum, Bullying, Eventual Smut, M/M, Minor Gladiolus Amicitia/Ignis Scientia, Noctis gets bullied in school, Not Beta Read, eventual OT4 - Freeform, more feelings than porn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-03-07
Packaged: 2019-03-18 19:34:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13688340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superagentwolf/pseuds/superagentwolf
Summary: High school is supposed to be about fights and feeling alone and first loves. That's complicated when you're a prince.-Or, the one where Noctis has to juggle his feelings with his duty and ends up discovering the best relationship ever in the process.





	1. Be Mine

No one is outright rude to him. Not when there are teachers around.

Noctis is the Crown Prince; he has a title and importance. It means that some students, either because of their pettiness or jealousy, hate him on principle. There are people that just glare, especially when Noctis is excused early for some sort of meeting or he’s given a wide berth by a teacher. Noctis has never asked for any special treatment and most times, he doesn’t get it—but the times that he does are enough to convince the others that he’s a target.

Bullying is terrible. Physical violence is terrible; Noctis knows this because of the scar on Prompto’s arm and the way there are always some students that creep around the edges of every classroom.

Emotional hurt is different.

At first, Noctis had felt guilty for wanting something for himself. For wanting a friend. He had constantly reminded himself, _you’re the prince, you can’t expect them to treat you like an equal_. He’d made the mistake of accepting someone once, who only wanted to be near him for what he was. That mistake hurt more than he could have ever imagined.

Then Prompto came along. Smiling, a hand in his pocket, hair messy and golden.

Noctis still can’t believe Prompto, sometimes. He catches himself looking at his best friend as if he expects Prompto to disappear into nothing. It never happens, though. They’re just _them_ , best friends, not a prince and an adopted refugee. It’s more than Noctis could have ever asked for.

* * *

Prompto first realizes it when they have to make teams during gym. He’s immediately latched onto Noctis’ arm, laughing excitedly—as much as Noctis has been trained away from touching, because he’s prince and it’s inappropriate, he doesn’t give a damn. Not when Prompto is warm and Noctis feels like he hasn’t been touched in years.

Around the twenty second mark, Prompto realizes that the teams are forming away from them. He frowns a little but drags Noctis toward one of the groups. A girl looks over her shoulder at them and Noctis can see the emotions on her face—worry, dread. Of course she doesn’t want them on the team. No one does. Noctis almost wishes he could sit out.

It’s fairly obvious, two minutes into the game of volleyball, that they’re keeping the ball as far away from Noctis as possible. Noctis can’t even find it in himself to care; he’s used to it and volleyball is small fish compared to the training he gets from Gladio almost every day.

Prompto is not so forgiving.

They’re the last two left in their tiny corner of the locker room and Prompto’s mouth is pressed into a thin line, his usual cheer tarnished. Noctis can feel his heart pounding despite not having moved the whole period. _This is it. This is when he realizes it’s not worth it to be my friend._

Prompto slams his locker shut, staring at it as if it’s done something wrong. Noctis has never seen Prompto like this—genuinely angry. Even when he’s annoyed, Prompto is always smiling.

“What the hell, dude?”

Noctis can’t come up with a response. He stands there, holding his jacket in his hands, shirt half-buttoned and uneven. His mouth is dry.

“I’m sor—,”

“What were they being dicks for? I mean, seriously!” Prompto scowls at the floor and Noctis swallows past his fear.

“You know why. It’s because of me.”

“It’s not because of _you._ There’s nothing wrong with you.”

“I’m the prince,” Noctis reminds him, hating it even as he says it. It’s an unspoken agreement between them—always has been—that they don’t bring it up. Prompto has never used Noctis’ title and he’s never made a big deal out of it. _If this is the day that changes, I don’t know if I can handle it._

“So? I mean, geez. It’s just a game,” Prompto says. He finally looks up and instead of annoyance or disgust, Noctis sees worry in his eyes. _He’s worried for me. For how I feel._ The simple realization is almost too much; Noctis can feel the lump in his throat grow and he knows his eyes are stinging. He hates crying; never really does, so he’s shocked at the tears that threaten him.

“Prom—,”

“They’re idiots, okay?” Prompto says, and without any warning—without a question—he climbs over the bench between them, pulling Noctis into a hug. “They’re idiots.”

Noctis can’t answer. Even beside the gravity of it—the fact that Prompto is still there, at his side, despite the secondhand shunning he’s gone through—Noctis is reeling from the touch. Just the touch. He hates that he wants to cry even more but Prompto is warm and his arms are strong, holding them together and holding Noctis up in a way that feels safer than anything else in the world. Noctis immediately hugs Prompto back, unable to keep his arms away. _Six, it feels good._ He can’t remember the last time he was hugged.

“Hey. You know I don’t care about them, right? I just—I’m just mad that they do this to you.”

“I know,” Noctis says quietly. He likes the way Prompto’s breath feathers across his ear, making his hair tickle his skin.

As perfect as the moment is, footsteps approach and Prompto carefully backs away, slow enough to let Noctis know he’s not ashamed but purposeful enough to keep them from being subjected to any more cruelty. They finish changing and when they leave, Prompto slings an arm carefully over Noctis’ shoulder, the move both possessive and protective.

The entire drive home, Noctis stares out the window and wonders if Prompto would hug him more.

* * *

It’s not until their junior year that things get more physical. In quiet hallways or corners of the locker room, Noctis is bumped and shoved with enough force to move him but not enough to cause a scene. The casual violence always manages to happen when Prompto’s not around—which Noctis is glad for. Prompto isn’t afraid of touching Noctis, whether it’s an arm on his shoulders or the infamous slap to his ass. Noctis drinks in every single touch and he doesn’t want to risk them going away just because of a few bruises and bumps.

They’re at the track one day when the teacher gets called away. While everyone is milling around and talking, Noctis tries to brush past a classmate, reaching for a bottle of water on the bench. It’s his first mistake.

“Hey, princess. Watch where you’re going.”

Noctis ignores the jab. He’s always found it better not to respond; the more he lets the words roll off his back, the sooner things blow over. Or at least, that’s how it always used to work. This year, he’s been having trouble getting out of the same old scenarios. This year, they aren’t as forgiving.

“Hey. He said to watch it,” another boy says. His hand on Nocits’ shoulder is heavy, nothing like Prompto’s warmth and carefulness. The hand turns Noctis around and he lets it, knowing better than to resist. _The sooner you let it happen, the sooner it ends._

“Sorry.” He doesn’t say anything else because as quickly as he wants the confrontation to be over, he’s not about to apologize. When he says the word, what he’s really saying is _you’re sorry. You are sorry, small people and you don’t mean anything to me._

Maybe that’s his second mistake. Either they know or they’re just not satiated by Noctis’ response. One of the boys—they’re in a group of four—shoves at Noctis. There’s a small _clank_ as Noctis feels the back of his legs hit the bench behind him. No one else is really watching. Noctis realizes, after a moment of glancing around, that they’re purposefully turning their back. They’re pretending not to notice.

_All of them?_

He shouldn’t feel so disappointed. He knows most of the students are simply trying to stay out of trouble, or out of the warpath. He knows it’s smart to stay out of it. That still doesn’t mean he can’t feel so _alone_. Left behind.

Someone shoves him and he reflexively blocks against the hands, training kicking in. It’s the wrong things to do. The fighting gets worse—more insistent, like they know that Noctis can fight and they’re trying to push him into throwing a punch. Logically, Noctis knows he can’t beat them all. There are four of them and he’s just coming off having a cold; the entire reason he’s alone on the field is because Prompto had gone inside to check Noctis’ bag for headache medicine. _At least he’s not caught up in this,_ Noctis thinks, preparing to fight back. That’s when he hears someone running. Not just someone, though—Prompto.

Prompto practically _roars_ and Noctis thinks his heart stops.

This is not something he ever would have expected.

Prompto practically flies across the field, his blue eyes blazing, and _punches_ ones of the boys with enough force to send him flying back. The other three are too startled to do anything at first and Prompto takes full advantage of the fact, hitting another boy before they start hitting back. Noctis wants to help but he’s frozen, staring as Prompto ducks the hits aimed at him. In his gym shorts, every toned muscle in Prompto’s legs is visible, lean and solid from running. Noctis almost can’t tear his eyes away. Fighting, Prompto looks almost like a dancer, fast and precise.

It takes about two minutes for Prompto to knock down all four of the boys. One of them has a broken nose, Noctis thinks. Prompto himself has a scratched knee, a bruise already forming on his arm from where he’d blocked a kick, a smear of dirt on the corner of his mouth from someone trying to grab at his face. Prompto stands there, breathing heavily, and suddenly shoves his foot onto the chest of the ringleader.

“Leave him the _fuck_ alone. Understand?”

There’s a teacher yelling in the distance. Noctis can’t concentrate on the words. He’s transfixed, watching the boy on the ground squirm. The way he looks up at Prompto, Noctis can see murder in his eyes. Prompto presses his foot down harder.

“ _Do. You. Understand?_ ”

“Sh—yes. Shit. _Yes_ ,” the boy on the ground growls, trying to push Prompto’s foot off.

The teacher finally appears, pulling Prompto by the arm. Noctis is barely able to think enough to follow them, voice low as he explains. Ignis is called, as usual, and even Gladio is there when the sleek car pulls up to the school. Before they even get there, Noctis is glaring holes through the door of the principal’s office. They won’t let him in.

_He was protecting me,_ Noctis had said, protesting when he was carefully pushed back from the door. _I was being attacked and he only protected me._

“What happened?” Ignis asks. His voice is sharp as he approaches, shoes echoing in the hallway. “I thought you were hurt. Wasn’t there a fight?”

“Not me. Prom,” Noctis says, nodding toward the office door. “He just…he kind of…”

_Flew into a rage,_ Noctis wants to say, but it wasn’t even that. Prompto had been level-headed; he’d moved with the efficiency of someone used to fighting unfair battles. The thought hurts but Noctis pushes it away for later, focusing on the present.

“What?” Gladio prompts.

“He beat them up. All four of them.”

Noctis understands the silence. Ignis is as close to shocked as Noctis has ever seen him; Gladio, even though he’s never met Prompto, seems skeptical. Probably because any time Noctis mentions it, it’s in conjunction with chocobos or King’s Knight.

“You’re here.” The office door opens and a secretary steps out, her hair tucked neatly away from her face. “This doesn’t concern the prince, so—,”

“We’ll need to see the security footage,” Ignis says evenly. “For safety purposes. If this was indeed an attack on the Crown Prince, we need to know.”

The woman flounders a little before stammering a _wait here_ and disappearing back into the office. She emerges with the principal a moment later and Ignis walks down the hall with the man, speaking in low tones.

“You’re not gonna develop x-ray vision trying to stare through the door,” Gladio says shortly. Noctis can feel himself blushing and he stares pointedly down the hall and away from the office.

“Shut up.”

“You that worried about him? He took on four people, according to you. I think he can take care of himself.”

“He didn’t have to do that,” Noctis mutters, barely paying attention. “He shouldn’t have.”

Gladio doesn’t say anything else. Ignis walks back with the principal, who seems vaguely agitated. Noctis understands the sentiment. Ignis can get almost anything out of anyone; even in situations that aren’t entirely connected to Noctis or the crown.

“Oh—and perhaps you wouldn’t mind sending the other boy out? We should ensure his wellbeing, of course,” Ignis says, stopping the principal right as his hand touches the door. _Power move,_ Noctis thinks. The principal murmurs something and Noctis almost jumps up, waiting.

Prompto emerges a minute later, after Ignis goes inside with the principal, probably to look at the footage.

“Prom. Are you okay?” Noctis can’t help the flutter in his chest—worry, of course. Even if Prompto hadn’t been badly injured, it was still a bad fight. And he’s been in the office alone.

“I’m fine,” Prompto says, beaming. His eyes slide toward Gladio, widening just a fraction.

“It’s—this is Gladio. You know—,”

“Oh! Wall of muscle!” Prompto blurts. Gladio raises an eyebrow at Noctis. _I did not tell him that,_ Noctis tries to say, but Prompto is whistling. “Noct didn’t mention _how much_ muscle. What, do you just drink raw protein?”

Gladio’s amusement doesn’t last long. He waves away the commentary, grabbing Prompto’s wrist in midair. Noctis almost protests, _be careful_ lingering on his tongue, but he knows how careful Gladio is. Especially after a fight.

“Hm. Seems like bruises, mostly. A scratch or two.”

“Um—yeah,” Prompto manages, voice a little higher than normal. His expression screams, _what the hell_. “I mean, it’s no big deal. Not the worst fight I’ve been in. Anyway, they were all talk.”

Gladio shares a glance with Noctis. _Not the worst?_ Neither of them ask. There are footsteps approaching and Noctis looks around Gladio, tensing when he sees the people. The four. Gladio notices his reaction and looks over his shoulder, arms crossed. Noctis can’t help the tiny wave of pleasure he feels when all four students shrink away from Gladio, skirting around him until they’re practically hugging the opposite wall. Noctis doesn’t miss the way they glare at Prompto, though, the anger sharp in their eyes.

“Those four?” Gladio asks, glancing down at Prompto. “Huh. Not bad, kid.”

“Like I said, they weren’t that good,” Prompto shrugs. “I’m not built for close combat. Lucky I didn’t break a bone.”

“Ranged,” Gladio agrees, assessing Prompto with a critical eye. Noctis almost wants to tell him to knock it off but he bites his tongue. _Why does it matter?_ “Archery?”

“Guns, actually,” Prompto says, scratching the back of his neck nervously. He winces a little at the movement, massaging his left shoulder with the opposite hand. “I’m a pretty good sharpshooter.”

Whatever Gladio is going to say, he doesn’t get the chance. The door to the office opens and Ignis emerges. He’s alone, Noctis notices, which could be good or bad. _It better not be bad. I’m getting the crown involved if they try to kick Prompto out._

It takes him a second to realize his own thoughts. _The crown? Over Prompto?_

“That was commendable of you,” Ignis says, addressing Prompto directly. “Unfortunate and a little…showy, but commendable.”

“If you make an example, the mistake likely won’t be made again,” Prompto says, his lips twisted in a smirk. _Fuck,_ Noctis thinks. The flutter in his chest is getting worse. He thinks he knows why. Prompto laughs then, shrugging, and the danger is gone almost as soon as it had appeared. He’s sunny again, the anger and fury gone. “Or—it’s like, it goes something like that!”

“Indeed,” Ignis says, sharing a glance with Gladio. His expression seems to say that he sees right through the smile. “Well, it’s been taken care of. The other four students were clearly a threat to the prince, so no action will be taken—other than, of course, disciplinary measures against the others.”

“You know, kid—I wouldn’t mind seeing you in a fight,” Gladio adds. “We wouldn’t be evenly matched, but it would be one hell of a time.”

Noctis and Prompto walk with Gladio and Ignis to the front. Noctis rapidly loses track of the conversation Gladio is having about fighting and technique; he’s too busy watching Prompto’s movements for any sign of injury. Ignis catches his eye at one point and sends him a curious look that’s too knowing for Noctis’ comfort. By the time Gladio and Ignis drive away, Noctis barely comes to his senses enough to hear Prompto speak.

“Man. They’re pretty cool. I wonder if I could ever get Gladio to help train me?”

“If you did, you’d wish you hadn’t,” Noctis says, a little relieved. This is familiar. Comfortable.

He’s not ready to think about the way he’d felt during the fight, or the fact that he can suddenly remember hearing Prompto calling his name before charging headfirst into the mess. Noctis isn’t going to think about it just yet—not the flutter in his chest and not the anxiety when he’d been separated from Prompto, only a door between them and the knowledge that Prompto had stepped in on Noctis’ behalf.

There will be time to think about it all later. For now, Noctis lets Prompto’s arm settle where it always does on Noctis’ shoulder, comfortable and easy, steering them back to the school.

* * *

The hall is filled with giggles and exclamations. Everyone is running around and Noctis is sitting at his desk, staring out the window.

It’s the fourteenth.

He’s never paid much attention to the date before; he never expects anything and knows he won’t really get anything either way. The most he can do come the fourteenth is avoid the dozens of confessions happening in the school at any given moment. Noctis tries to remind himself that he isn’t bitter—he’s never cared about the holiday before—but it’s hard to think about when the reminders are all in his face.

Prompto had opened his locker in the morning and squawked, making Noctis smile because he already pokes fun at his friend for looking like a chocobo chick. Except then Noctis had looked over and seen a small avalanche of notes falling out of Prompto’s locker, red and pink and scrawled on notebook paper, flying gently on the wind like boats.

Noctis is _not_ jealous.

“Oh, man,” Prompto had wailed, trying to pick up the wayward tokens. “We’re gonna be late for class!”

“You’re going to be late,” Noctis had corrected, turning away to walk to class. Prompto had good-naturedly whined at him the entire time. Noctis had been so tempted to go back and toss some of the cards away. _Six, I’m being petty._ Noctis is fully aware that he has no say over his best friend’s life. It’s not his place to say or do anything, especially if Prompto is interested.

So Noctis has spent the entire morning being secondhand embarrassed as Prompto keeps getting approached at random moments, by girls asking if he’s read their letters or handing him chocolates. There was even a girl that had practically demanded her letter back, red and avoiding eye contact.

“ _Noct_ ,” Prompto says, sounding as if he’s been calling his name for ages. Noctis blinks, turning away from the window.

“What?”

“I said, do you want to get food after school? We have a test coming up. I know you need to study—,”

“Sorry. Excuse me,” a voice interrupts. It’s not a girl, which makes Noctis turn, tense. _Another bully?_ They had been sneaky the first few days after Prompto’s fight, trying to lure the both of them apart. It didn’t work. The guy standing next to Prompto’s desk doesn’t look like he wants to fight, though. Noctis barely recognizes him—an upperclassman, he thinks—and then Noctis sees the huddle of girls at the door, giggling and staring. _Admirers._

“Oh. Uh, hey. What’s up?” Prompto asks, smiling. He seems confused. _He’s so oblivious._

“Happy Valentine’s,” the guy says, sliding a small box onto Prompto’s desk. His smile comes easily; his dark hair is pushed back from his face perfectly, wavy against his pale skin. He looks like an actor or something.

Noctis feels a rush of annoyance and almost leaves right then and there. _Stop it,_ he tells himself. _You’re not jealous of that guy. Seriously. Why are you jealous of a guy?_

“Oh. _Oh,_ ha—,” Prompto stutters, immediately blushing a bright pink, and Noctis stares. It’s not the way Prompto has received his other suitors; he’d politely accepted or turned away all the girls with his usual grin, sending them on their way with dazed expressions as if they couldn’t bring themselves to feel sad.

_Is he…does he…?_

“No pressure,” the guy winks. He passes Prompto’s desk and Noctis doesn’t miss the way his fingers brush against Prompto’s wrist, barely there. _Nope,_ Noctis thinks, pointedly staring at a sign on the far wall. _I am not going to get mad. I’m not._

“Oh my god, _kill me_ ,” Prompto groans, his face smashed onto his desk and his hands laced in his hair. Noctis can’t say anything. How could he? _How could I say, hey, Prom, I’m starting to think maybe I really like you more than I really should as a friend._

_Hey, Prom, I’ve been staring at your freckles a bit too much, lately._

_Hey, Prom, I thought it was kind of stupid hot when you beat up four guys at once._

_Hey, Prom, I like the way your lips look and I really want to taste them._

“Hey, Prom—,”

“What?” Prompto’s head shoots up from the desk. He’s still blushing a little. Noctis blinks, panicking. _Shit. I didn’t mean to say anything._ He looks around for an excuse but his eyes are drawn to the little box on Prompto’s table. The tiny card on top is just open a little. Noctis can see a number.

“Yeah. We should study. Tonight.” Even if it’s just one night, Noctis wants to enjoy having Prompto to himself.

Or maybe he’s just a masochist.

“Oh. Great!” Prompto grins and then the class starts filing back in, right before the bell rings.

Noctis feels transparent. The rest of the day, all he can think is that he’s spectacularly failing at distancing himself from Prompto and putting off facing his feelings. Maybe Prompto had been more embarrassed at the guy giving him a gift, but that doesn’t mean anything. For all Noctis knows, it just means that he was more uncomfortable. Noctis doesn’t want to push it.

“Hey. Make sure you have the right book,” Prompto says, just after the bell rings. He taps his fingers against the desk, antsy, and looks toward the door. “I need to go meet someone before we leave. Shouldn’t take long. I hope.”

“Oh. Okay.” Noctis watches him go for a moment before shaking his head, looking back at his desk.

When he opens it, there’s a small note on a piece of white paper. Noctis stares at it for a full minute before reaching out, uncertain, looking around like he expects someone to yell _surprise_ and take it back. Instead, he takes the paper out and opens it, heart in his throat.

_Meet me on the roof after school._

It’s short and simple. Noctis doesn’t know what to expect; part of him is suspicious. He knows it could be a prank or a trap. Still, he doesn’t want to leave someone waiting. Especially since this has never happened to him before. _I’ll just go and come back before Prom is done,_ Noctis decides, quickly shoving his things into his bag and grabbing Prompto’s things before he leaves the classroom. As much as he knows he should be excited, he just can’t bring himself to feel happier about it. Not when he’s been spending the entire day looking in Prompto’s direction and wishing things were different.

Noctis gets to the roof in barely a minute. There’s no one there, except for Prompto. _Huh. I guess he was supposed to meet someone here, too._ Noctis is about to walk in the opposite direction, thinking maybe he should give them both room, and then Prompto clears his throat and his eyes dart away from Noctis for a second.

_Wait. No._

“I, uh—sorry about the trick,” Prompto says, laughing nervously. “I wanted it to be a surprise.”

“You…what?” Noctis manages, dazed. _Him? That was him?_

“I know you act like you don’t care about being left out—sometimes, you really don’t care—but I care. I care, Noct.”

Prompto is staring at him with determination and something else. _Fear?_ Noctis has no clue what’s happening—an act of solidarity? _Is he about to tell me he’s not accepting Valentines because of me?_ Noctis feels immediately guilty at the thought.

“You don’t have to—,”

“Yeah, I do,” Prompto says quickly. “I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable, Noct, but I had to. I care and I don’t like that you don’t get to have the things you want. Okay? So, just…here.”

Amaryllis. Prompto’s hands appear from behind his back and he’s holding a bouquet, absurdly large and vibrantly red. The flowers look like stars, rich in color, with long stems. Noctis stares at them and wonders whether he’s dreaming and if he fell asleep during the last lecture in class.

“Happy Valentine’s,” Prompto says. His smile is small but sure.

_Oh, Six. Amaryllis._ It’s the Knight’s Star; it’s a flower of love, beauty, determination, and strength. It’s also a gift. It’s one of the flowers that Noctis knows well, from his court training—it’s sometimes given to Kingsguard members as tokens but it’s also a traditional flower of courtly love.

_It’s a damned confession,_ Nocits realizes. It’s a confession and it’s so plain that there’s no way that Prompto doesn’t know. _No way._

Noctis never makes the conscious decision to step forward. His feet move on their own and then Noctis is so close he can see every freckle on Prompto’s face, golden and perfect. They’re sharing the same space, drinking in the air between them as if it’s the only thing keeping them alive. Prompto’s eyes are beyond blue and Noctis looks for something. A sign. His hand is closing around the bouquet but he barely feels its weight; he’s too stricken, held in place by Prompto’s gaze.

“Can—can I—,” Noctis starts, licking his lips, unsure of whether he should even ask. Whether he’s not just making the worst mistake of his life.

Except Prompto’s hand wavers in the air and then it’s right on Noctis’ chin, careful and soft, and Noctis almost falls to his knees right there. It’s a trivial touch but Prompto has never touched his face—it’s always been an arm, a shoulder, his back, even his leg. This is different. Prompto’s thumb is resting just beneath his mouth and Noctis can’t stand it.

“Yeah,” Prompto says quietly, blue eyes flicking up from under feathery lashes, and Noctis practically yanks Prompto by his tie.

_Oh, Six, I can’t believe this is happening._ Prompto’s lips are warm and Noctis can’t help his sigh or the way he opens his mouth, pressing his tongue as he finally gets a chance to taste. He only wants to know what it’s like but then Prompto turns his head, inhaling sharply, and then Noctis can hear his pulse rushing in his ears as Prompto’s tongue finds its way into his mouth. _I could die here,_ Noctis thinks distantly. Prompto tastes like chocolate— _have one, Prom, might as well not let them go to waste_ —and salt, something unique and entirely him lying underneath it all. Noctis thinks he might be moaning or maybe they both are; all he knows is that the flowers are on the floor and Noctis is hanging onto Prompto for dear life, one hand buried in the softest hair he’s ever touched.

Prompto touches Noctis like he’s precious, in a way Noctis can’t even describe. He doesn’t act as if Noctis is breakable but his hands are torturously slow and pressing, as if he wants to absorb Noctis into his skin. Prompto’s hand is at his neck, tracing a circle, and the other is on his cheek, cradling his face like it’s something invaluable.

They only come back to reality when the door to the roof creaks, almost opening, voices audible. Prompto pulls away and Noctis chases after him for a moment, frowning a little. He realizes what’s happening then and looks back, nervous. After a second, whoever it is thinks better of their choice and the door to the roof closes again. Noctis and Prompto are left staring at the door, blinking and trying to focus again.

“I, um—,” Prompto starts, clearing his throat. He’s pink again; he matches the sunset, gold and flushed. Noctis wants a picture of him just like this. _Maybe next time._

“Are…do you still want to, um. Study?”

“What? Oh. Yes. Yeah!” Prompto says quickly, laughing a little, dazed.

“We might not get much studying done,” Noctis says, before he can think better of it. His eyes keep looking for Prompto’s mouth. _This is going to be bad. How am I going to pay attention in class when he sits right next to me?_

“What—what do you—,” Prompto splutters, even redder than before, and Noctis feels a smile tugging at his lips. _Maybe it won’t be that bad._

“Come on. Iggy’s probably waiting. My phone just buzzed.” Noctis heads to the door, looking at the flowers in his hand, resisting the urge to bury his face in them. _Flowers. For me._ He hates how romantic and perfect it is. _Of course, Prom would do something like this._

Prompto catches up to him after a moment, tugging his bag off Noctis’ shoulder after threatening to make out with him in front of Ignis. Noctis shoots him an unimpressed look until Prompto starts leaning in while they’re walking toward the car.

“Prom, wait—,” Noctis says, panicking a little, but Prompto laughs and just pulls the strap off Noctis’ shoulder.

“Don’t worry. I don’t do free shows.”

“ _Six,_ Prom.”

If Ignis knows who gave Noctis flowers, he doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t comment on Noctis’ spectacular blush, either. He just pulls away from the school, asking _where should I go for food_ , and Noctis immediately tells him Prompto’s favorite place. Prompto cheers and Noctis crosses one leg over the other, pointedly looking out the window while he sneaks his hand over Prompto’s.

And if Iggy notices they’re holding hands, he doesn’t say anything about it, either.


	2. Third Time's the Charm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Noctis is trying his best. Prompto is trying his best. Unfortunately, they're both forgetting something important—and it takes a fight, once again, to put them both in place.

Noctis realizes after about three days that he has no clue how to be in a relationship.

* * *

The first day, Noctis wakes up with the lingering memory of a kiss on his lips. He almost touches his mouth but stops short, hand wavering in the air. He feels hurt. _Why would I dream about that? Like it wasn’t enough to go through Valentine’s and be surrounded by people confessing and kissing and being happy?_ He hates the dream that seems to have persisted into waking. Noctis almost throws himself out of bed angrily, but then he sits up and sees the vase on his nightstand.

_Oh._ **_Oh._**

His anger changes into something much more lighthearted. The amaryllis is red and vibrant in the morning sun and Noctis thinks he’s blushing the same color. Now that he’s awake, he can almost taste Prompto all over again, chocolate and salt and a tongue exploring his mouth. It was just one kiss, but one was enough to make Noctis realize just how bad he had it.

It’s an…interesting morning.

Interesting in the sense that Noctis feels like a stranger in his own body.

Ignis doesn’t seem to notice that everything is different. Noctis feels like he has a neon sign flashing over his head, declaring the kiss and the flowers and the way Prompto had grinned at him from across the table while they were studying. The entire drive to the school, Noctis feels like he’s running a low-grade fever. It only gets worse when they pull up and Prompto is waiting at the gate.

“Hey! Morning, Iggy!” Prompto is one of the only people that can get away with using Ignis’ nickname. Ignis had accepted it sometime after the third month of Noctis and Prompto’s friendship, in an unusual display of lenience.

“Good morning, Prompto. Do take care. Study hard,” Ignis says, as formal and cool as ever, and then he drives away.

Noctis is very aware of himself. He is very aware of how much his eyes are drawn to Prompto’s mouth. He is very aware of the flush on his cheeks. He is extremely aware of how much he just wants to touch Prompto.

“Did you stay up late? You seem kind of tired,” Prompto says, frowning.

“No. I’m fine,” Noctis says, grateful that his voice at least sounds normal. Prompto just grins and slings his arm around Noctis’ shoulders, moving them toward the school.

There’s no time for Noctis to worry. It’s practice exam day, so they sit in silence and drag through class after class bending over their desks. Prompto sends Noctis brief looks between classes, his eyes sparkling and his smile easy. Noctis can barely respond to them with a faint smile, but he feels a lot like an imposter. _Why am I being so awkward?_

It takes three tests for Noctis to realize he’s being stupid. _Just act like you always have. That’s the best part of liking your best friend, right? You already know everything about him. It’s fine._

Noctis starts feeling better. By lunchtime, he’s determined to smooth things back over. He feels bad for being so stilted around Prompto in the morning, but he knows he can make it up. Prompto stretches at his desk, yawning a little, and Noctis gives him a fleeting glance before staring down at his book. Prompto’s shirt hitches up, a line of muscle clearly visible, and Noctis has to force himself to focus on the equation at his fingertips.

“Want something from the cafeteria?”

“Sure,” Noctis says, reaching for the wallet in his bag.

“Don’t worry, dude.”

“Don’t be silly,” Noctis says evenly, passing Prompto a handful of coins. _You work too hard to spend money for the both of us,_ he doesn’t say.

There’s a beat of silence and Prompto looks down at his hand, his smile frozen in place. Noctis’ brows knit together in worry and he frowns, unsure. His relief is fading. Prompto snaps out of it after a breath, waving as he leaves the classroom, but Noctis isn’t convinced. _What was that about?_

Prompto fills up lunch with conversation about a video game and Noctis lets it wash over him as usual, enjoying Prompto’s voice and the way he leans back in his chair. The strangeness is still there from whatever it was Prompto was unhappy about, but Noctis lets it slide, thinking it’ll resolve itself or Prompto will say something.

At the end of the day, Noctis walks with Prompto to the gate. He’s secretly wondering when something is going to happen.

_I mean, couples do stuff, right? He seemed okay with kissing me, before. He even made a joke about making out._

Nothing happens.

“Man, I’m beat. Why do they make us take all of them in one go?”

“Because that’s how it’ll work when we take the real ones,” Noctis says evenly. They’re walking toward the front gate and Noctis counts each step, expecting Prompto to stop him. To hold his hand or touch his face again. To do something.

“Guess you’re right. Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m gonna sleep well.”

Noctis hums in agreement, feeling his hope dwindle with every step toward the front gates. Ignis is already there. It’s too late. _Am I rushing? Maybe I’m rushing. But isn’t it normal? And he would touch me before, even casually_. He tries to remember a time that Prompto got anywhere near him that day besides the morning and comes up empty. Prompto chats with Ignis about some kind of recipe and by the time Prompto steps out to walk from the bus stop, Noctis is no closer to an answer.

Noctis gives Prompto a lame goodbye and sinks back into his seat as Ignis drives him home. _Maybe it was just the tests. He said he was tired and we did stay up late studying._ Noctis convinces himself that’s the answer, but it doesn’t feel right, even when he gets home to a cheerful text from Prompto reminding him to bring his book for class the next day. _That’s it. He’s just tired. That’s all._

* * *

The second day, Noctis is practically dying. He feels like a plant that hasn’t been watered, which is both depressing and fitting.

He’d spent the entire night trying to conjure up a dream-Prompto to hold him. It didn’t work.

“Noct! Hey,” Prompto says, frowning. “You sure you’re not sick. You seem kinda off.”

“I’m fine,” Noctis repeats, but then Noctis leans over his desk and reaches a hand out.

Noctis panics.

They’re in the middle of a classroom full of people eating lunch and chatting. Noctis is hyperaware of how close they are and how bad it would be if someone were to find out. If word got to the bullies from a few weeks ago, or worse, Noctis’ father. Anyone who would disapprove. _They won’t leave him intact._

Prompto’s hand is right in front of his forehead and Noctis budges it away—it’s not quite a slap, but it’s too rough to be playful. Prompto blinks, arm hovering, and Noctis wants to swallow his heart. He feels it pound in his throat and he knows that if he opens his mouth, it’ll come pouring out, along with a hundred other things. _I’m sorry. I just don’t want you to get hurt. I’m sorry_.

“Sorry,” Prompto says, his laugh shaky, and it’s then that Noctis knows he’s fucked up. “You should go the nurse, though. Can’t get sick right before break. I’ll get something to drink.”

Prompto disappears and Noctis almost wants to cry. _Six. What am I doing?_ He hasn’t ever refused Prompto’s touch before. Not even when he was aggravated; he’d brush Prompto away, always with a good-natured complaint, but Noctis had never outright slapped him away. Especially not when Prompto was worried.

Noctis goes to wash his face with cold water. When he gets back, Prompto’s desk is empty and there’s orange juice on Noctis’ desk. He stares at the thing like it’s at fault and swallows half of it down, frustrated.

_We haven’t even started and I’ve already broken it._

* * *

The third day, Noctis is depressed. He knows he’s failed and he doesn’t know what exactly went wrong. Ignis seems to notice his misery on the way to school, glancing in the rearview mirror with a familiarly sharp expression.

“This is the third day. As such, I must ask: what, precisely, is making the Crown Prince mope?”

“I’m not moping,” Noctis says immediately. It sounds as childish as he feels. He glares at the floor of the car, trying to channel his misery into anger. It doesn’t work.

“It might help to have outside perspective. Counsel.”

“I’m—it’s fine,” Noctis says, trying to steer away from the conversation. Ignis seems unimpressed. They’re too far from the school for Noctis to have a good escape.

“Have you had an argument with Prompto? Did he do something?”

“Prompto didn’t do anything,” Noctis say shortly. His response is a little too quick to be neutral. Noctis tries not to blush, swallowing his immediate answer. Ignis’ eyes slide to the rearview again, appraising. There’s a flicker of knowledge in his eyes. Noctis resents it a little.

“Well, whatever the case, I suggest communication.”

“What?”

“Communication. As much as you and the younger Kingsguard seem to think, communication is just as—if not more—important than planning and execution. Without communication, we would not be able to fight.”

“I can’t talk my enemies to death,” Noctis says, dry. The words stab at his chest and he leans against the window, hoping for rain. Something to wash away the mistakes.

“You, of all people, should know about communication. After all, it’s what allows us to fight with your warp ability when not all of us have it.”

He’s right. Noctis doesn’t want to say it, as much as he knows it. Ignis seems to notice, leaving the conversation at that. When Prompto leaves the car, he finds the front gates abandoned. No Prompto, for the first time since they’ve been friends. Noctis stares, eyes wide as if maybe that will help him see Prompto when he’s just not there. His heart hurts, looking at the empty space.

Noctis starts to walk through the gates but pauses. _He wouldn’t just leave me here. Would he?_

He remembers the way Prompto had been so sincere, holding the bouquet in hand. How he’d said _I care_. The way his hand had been so careful on Noctis’ face; the way Prompto had touched his neck and kissed Noctis like he’d been wanting to do it forever. _Did you? When did you know?_

Noctis presses his lips together, holding back a scream, and digs his phone out of his pockets. _He wouldn’t just leave me here. Something has to be wrong._ He dials Prompto, heart hammering in his chest, and then he hears it. There’s a ringing from the nearby bushes, quiet but distinct. Noctis turns on his heel, walking toward the noise; he feels his heart plummet when he sees Prompto’s phone, complete with chocobo charm— _there, Prom, I thought you might like it_ —lying on the ground.

_No no no no no no no_. Noctis’ heart starts racing and he turns in place, frantically searching for any sign of his friend. He feels like he might throw up. There are muddy scuffle marks on the sidewalk. He can imagine it—some sort of kidnappers, maybe, picking up the prince’s friend, or even an extortionist. Noctis knows how the crown deals with those kinds of threats. He knows how kidnappers deal with those situations.

Before he can completely break down, Noctis hears something. It’s faint but there in the distance, coming from somewhere deep in the trees past the bushes he stands at. Noctis doesn’t even bother to think or wait; the school bell rings but he couldn’t care less, taking off into the dense foliage with only one thing on his mind. He pushes branches out of his way as he goes, carving a path toward the noise. It comes again, a distinct shout of pain and anger, and Noctis knows the voice.

“Hey—how did trash like you end up with him, anyway? You just a pet project of his? Charity?”

There’s a laugh that could curdle milk but Noctis is just furious, finding his way toward the disturbance. He sees them as he gets closer—a man and three teenagers. The man is smoking, staring down at a figure on the ground. _Prompto_. The blond is curled over himself, panting a little, righting himself with shaky arms. Prompto is already hurt, a cut on his shoulder bright red and a smudge on his left cheek. His hands are dirty and his shirt is torn; his pants are dirty and his nose is red, a smeared trail of blood above his lip. Noctis is furious.

“You know that’s all you are, right?” one of the teenagers asks, nudging Prompto.

By the way Prompto bites back a noise and wobbles, Noctis guesses his ribs are either broken or bruised. Noctis is still too far away to do anything, but he runs faster, trying to figure out what to do. It’s a small space; he knows the smart thing would be to call for help, but he doesn’t want to wait. Not with Prompto on the ground. Noctis grinds out a quick emergency text to Ignis, creeping up behind the trees, looking for an opening.

“I know,” Prompto says, and the way he spits it out onto the ground along with blood makes Noctis’ heart ache. _What?_

“You know?” One of the other teenagers laughs, nudging Prompto’s chin up with his shoe. Prompto keeps his eyes lowered, but his expression is one of disgust and stubbornness.

“You think you’re the first to come after me? Please. I’m a Niff. There were eight, once. I took a few sick days and came back the next week,” Prompto says, his smile crooked. It’s a copy of the one he always wears with Noctis, when he’s joking around or practicing his aim, but there’s something else to it. A stony determination.

Noctis can’t wait any longer.

He’s quiet when he fights—he knows this because Gladio has chided him once or twice during sparring, reminding him that his _stony prince face_ isn’t helpful if Noctis gets winded in a fight. _You’ve got to tell us when something happens, or we won’t be able to help until it’s too late_. Being quiet has its advantages, though. It means that the four people in the clearing don’t really notice him until he’s grabbing one of the teenagers, flinging him to the ground after tossing him over a knee. Noctis is aware that the best he can do is cripple them and run, especially since Prompto is hurt and there are no other people around.

Prompto stumbles to his feet and before Noctis can say anything, he yells as he takes the brunt of one of the strangers’ impact, rolling over on the ground. Noctis can’t help him; he’s too busy keeping two teenagers at bay, ducking their hits and trying to maneuver closer to Prompto. It’s a mess. He knows, in the back of his mind, that all he’s doing is dodging—and he can’t do it forever.

Someone approaches through the trees. Noctis feels a fleeting fear—he decides, in a snap moment, that he’ll have to bodily protect Prompto and maybe even warp out of the situation, even though he’s not supposed to. He’s ready to go when Ignis emerges, almost strolling as Gladio bursts past him and dispatches the two teenagers at Noctis’ back, dumping them onto the ground and stepping on their chests just enough to warn them.

“Could have picked a better place to fight,” Gladio notes. Noctis understands the rebuke but lets it go, focusing on the man and teenager left. The teenager makes it easy, charging so Noctis can use his momentum to toss him over his shoulder and to the ground. The teen hits the ground with an _oof_ and Noctis stares at the man.

The stranger grabs Prompto from where he’s kneeling on the ground, hand fisted in blond hair, and Noctis almost screams at him. He feels a flair of anger and panic but pushes the feelings away, glaring the stranger down.

“What is it you want?” Ignis asks plainly, when Noctis makes no effort to speak.

“Funny, I didn’t think anyone would come,” the man muses, sparing a glance at Prompto. “Didn’t think this far ahead.”

“Hardly surprising,” Ignis mutters, and Noctis thinks he’s actually angry. It’s a little surprising and very comforting, he realizes, to know that one of the people he trusts most cares about Prompto enough to get mad. “I suggest we leave it at this, before you face the full wrath of the crown.”

“I don’t think you’d just let me go.” The man snorts, reaching into his pocket. Noctis’ heart stops when a small knife is flicked open. “Anyway, if I can get something from him, I should probably go find out what. I’ll see you soon enough. Unless you want to risk his head?”

There’s a beat of silence and Noctis turns just enough to make eye contact with Ignis. _No,_ he thinks, trying to convey what he feels. _No. Don’t._ He knows what Ignis would say—that it’s smart to let them go. Keep Prompto safe and make a peaceful exchange, or simply take out the kidnapper from a distance. Yet for all the logic, Noctis can’t let Prompto out of his sight. _If I do, I might never see him again._ Noctis looks down at his best friend, his heart still pounding, and blue eyes meet his.

Prompto smiles.

He smiles, tired and sad, and then he grabs the knife with his hand. Noctis opens his mouth—thinks he screams; he can’t be sure—and then Prompto’s yell of anger overcomes everything. Noctis can only watch as Prompto kicks the man in the leg, sending him down easily, his hand bleeding freely as he flips the knife in hand and brings it down to the back of the stranger’s knee.

It happens in a single breath and then Noctis is panting like he’s the one that was fighting back. Prompto is frozen in place, beaten and bloody, dripping blood on the stranger.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Prompto says simply, dropping the knife in the grass behind him.

“Shit,” Noctis breathes, rushing forward. Gladio handles the men somewhere in the background, but Noctis couldn’t care less. “Prom. Are—what—,”

“I’m okay,” Prompto says, cheerily, as if he’s not bleeding and bruised. He looks paler than usual.

“He needs medical attention,” Ignis says quietly, examining Prompto’s hand. Prompto doesn’t even squawk or protest. “This will have to be stitched. Those ribs are bruised, if not broken. We should call your parents.”

Prompto looks immediately uncomfortable in a way that he hadn’t seemed even after being beaten. Noctis leans back on his heels, silent. Prompto’s parents have never been something they spoke about. Noctis had always accepted it for what it was, too grateful for Prompto to push him for answers. The few things Noctis knows is that they must not be very involved in Prompto’s life, because he always makes his own lunches when he has them.

“I don’t—,” Prompto starts, inching away as he tries to stand. It only takes a second for him to hiss through his teeth, his façade of strength eroding.

“There is no question about it. The crown will see to it that you are looked after,” Ignis says, signaling for Gladio. “Get him to the hospital. Noct, stay here. We’ll need to fill in the Kingsguard. They should be close behind.”

Gladio is careful when he lifts Prompto, a display of gentleness that Noctis rarely sees. When he stands, Prompto exhales sharply, curling into himself like he wants to make the pain smaller. The last Noctis sees of him, Prompto is being carried off by Gladio, pale and small.

* * *

Noctis wanted to run from the scene.

It took a while for the Kingsguard that arrived to take away the four would-be kidnappers, taking time to get the full story from Noctis. Ignis had almost forced Noctis to go home first— _your father will want to know what happened_ —but Noctis had put his foot down. He wasn’t going anywhere but the hospital. Ignis had just given him a long look before turning away, talking on the phone.

“Even if they didn’t expect anyone to come, it still baffles me why they would take your friend.”

“It’s happened before,” Noctis responds as they drive, inside another sleek black car that Noctis has never been in. The words are sour in his mouth. He remembers Prompto’s words. _You think you’re the first to come after me?_

“…we should know about this. We’ll have to talk to him,” Ignis adds, continuing when Noctis opens his mouth to protest, “after he is well, of course.”

There’s a private room at the hospital. Noctis suspects Prompto might be uncomfortable, given the quality of the royal wing, so he stops outside of the gift shop, chewing on the inside of his cheek. Ignis waits at the door. He keeps his distance, perhaps aware that Noctis is struggling with the situation.

Noctis ends up buying a stuffed chocobo that’s stupidly big. He hauls it under his arm, ignoring the stares of passers-by as he walks to the elevator. The hospital smells too sterile and Noctis doesn’t like it—he’s always hated it, especially when he’d come for his regular checkups. He doesn’t like the idea of Prompto being stuck in a white-walled room, the smell of antiseptic and medication floating in the air.

Gladio raises an eyebrow at the chocobo but says nothing, moving away from the door. He nudges Ignis, jerking his head toward the desk. They walk off, probably to talk about Prompto’s treatment, and Noctis is left at the door. He stands there a moment too long, his heart pounding its way into his throat. When he finally opens the door, the confusing mess of emotions he’s feeling crystallize.

Prompto is sitting up in bed, a fresh shirt unbuttoned and bandages circling his chest. His hand is bandaged, too, and there’s a butterfly bandage on his forehead. What Noctis thought was a smudge of dirt on Prompto’s cheek is a bruise, deep in color and flowering over his skin.

The only thing that enters Noctis’ mind is, _I can’t lose him._

“Is that…?” Prompto trails off, eyes wide. He seems comically shocked.

“Here,” Noctis says, practically shoving the chocobo at Prompto before he catches himself, slowing his movement to avoid hurting his friend any more than he already has.

“Thanks,” Prompto says, voice muffled. He’s hiding his face in the thing. Noctis feels better, but nowhere near fine.

“What happened?”

“They came up to me at the gates,” Prompto says casually, petting the stuffed animal in his lap. Noctis wants to grab one of his hands but he doesn’t, clenching them on his knees.

“You went with them? Why?”

“It usually doesn’t take long for them to get bored,” Prompto says quietly. Noctis flinches back a little. Prompto looks up at him, something unreadable in his eyes. “You heard?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It wasn’t about you. Most times, it’s just for being me.”

“That doesn’t make it okay,” Noctis says, frustrated. _It’s not okay for him to be hurting._ “Is…is this how you felt? When I was…?”

“Yes,” Prompto says, his eyes wide. Wide and blue. “Yes. That’s how I felt.”

Noctis moves closer, pausing at Prompto’s side. His heart is hammering faster than he thought it could; he feels like everyone can hear it. This time, Noctis is the one to reach out. He almost cries when he touches Prompto’s face—the skin is soft and warm, freckles on his cheekbones scattered like stars. With a start, Noctis realizes, _I missed this._ He doesn’t have any right to; they were barely together before they stumbled. He stumbled.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Yes,” Prompto mumbles. His eyes are already on Noctis’ mouth.

It doesn’t matter that they’re in a hospital, or that Ignis and Gladio are outside. That the door has a tiny window in it. Noctis leans down and kisses Prompto, trying to be as careful as possible, avoiding the bruise and keeping his touch soft. It’s a reassuring brush of lips at first, faint and sweet, and then it’s more. Prompto opens his mouth and Noctis breathes him in like air, losing all sense of the world except for the taste and touch. Prompto is still hurt, though, and he makes a small noise of pain that makes Noctis back away, watching Prompto wince and hold his side.

“Sorry. Can’t breathe too fast.” Prompto smiles lopsidedly, his cheeks flushed.

“I make you breathe too fast?” Noctis asks. Somehow it leaves his lips too fast and he’s a little scandalized by it, as proud as he is. Prompto flushes a little darker, spluttering as he avoids eye contact.

“Noct—geez, come on—aren’t there, like, cameras in here? This is the royal wing, right—,”

“They already caught us kissing.”

“Are you serious?!” Prompto nearly shrieks and Noctis shakes his head, laughing a little.

“Don’t yell. You’re hurt and you need rest,” Noctis says, petting the chocobo. Prompto pouts, resting his chin on the animal.

“Will you stay?” Prompto mutters into the chocobo, muffled. His eyes are trained on the IV in his arm, following it back to the bag and the machinery behind it.

“Yeah. I’ll stay,” Noctis says quietly, moving to cover Prompto’s hand with his own. _I’m not going anywhere. Not anytime soon._

* * *

“Hey. What…um, what happened? I mean, I’m not sure what it was, but I want to know. So I don’t do it again,” Noctis says, staring a little too hard at the Jell-O on Prompto’s tray.

There’s a moment of silence punctuated by Prompto clearing his throat, scratching his nose with a finger. Noctis feels awkward as hell but he knows they need to talk about it. There’s no way they can move forward if they don’t figure out what happened.

“You, uh…you kind of acted the same,” Prompto says nervously. “I mean, like nothing happened. I wasn’t sure…I mean, I thought maybe you didn’t, uh…didn’t want—,”

_Shit,_ Noctis thinks, feeling worse. _I thought I could just act the same and I didn’t even think that might be a bad idea._ He moves off his chair, climbing up onto the bed, while Prompto squeaks and tries to pull his legs out of the way.

“That’s not what it was. I just—I didn’t know how to act. I was worried. I thought maybe that’s how it was supposed to be. I guess I was just worried that I’d do something wrong, but I ended up doing it anyway.”

“It wasn’t your fault. You just didn’t know—and I didn’t tell you.”

“I guess we’ll have to get better at that,” Noctis says carefully, trying for a smile.

Prompto beams and Noctis feels his heart pound once, hard. _Is he ever not going to make me feel this way?_ He desperately hopes not. Noctis likes the way he feels giddy with Prompto; he likes the way he feels open and free. Like a person and not a prince.

“If you keep looking at me like that, I’m gonna start getting the wrong ide—mph!”

Noctis decides that he likes kissing Prompto more than anything else. He can’t get the feeling out of his mind; he’d thought about it almost all night, lying face-to-face with his best friend. He’d stared at Prompto’s mouth too long, touching his own lips as if he could bring back the sensation. Noctis had never understood the couples that spent their every moment making out in the hallways; he thinks he does, now.

Noctis’ tongue is in Prompto’s mouth and he presses carefully, finding new places, and then Prompto moans.

Loudly.

Noctis stops, shocked, and he can feel how hot Prompto’s blush is beneath his fingers. Prompto’s hand flies to his lips but he stops short of covering his mouth, eyes wide and blush red. They stare at each other in silence.

“I—that—I didn’t—,” Prompto stutters, voice uneven.

“No. It’s recorded,” Noctis says, his pulse whooshing in his ears. _I need to calm down. He’s still hurt._

“What?!”

“It’s recorded. I’m going to think about that all the time, now.”

“Noct—,”

“Let’s see if I can make you do it again,” Noctis says, feeling his smile widen. Prompto’s protest dissipates and he scowls, hands tangling in Noctis’ shirt. He yanks them together, kissing Noctis with enough force to bruise.

_Well, shit._

The tray might wobble and some water might spill when Noctis pushes it away, but it doesn’t matter because he has Prompto settled perfectly beneath him. As strange as it is to be sitting in Prompto’s lap in a hospital, Noctis doesn’t even give it a second thought. All he knows is the hands in his hair and the mouth he’s exploring, categorizing every taste with the dedication he only ever applies to his training. He wants to remember every centimeter of this for as long as he lives.

Prompto’s hands are on his hips and Noctis feels like he could die. He feels like they fit perfectly there, pulling him closer, and Noctis is embarrassingly responsive. Their panting breath is echoing in the room but he can’t even find the presence of mind to care.

That is, until the door clicks.

Noctis practically falls backward over the bed to get out of the way. He curls sideways in the chair by the bed, pulling his knees up to his chest, suddenly very aware of how excited he’d been getting. Prompto is redder than ever. There is no way they’re getting away with it.

It’s just a nurse. She smiles and makes small talk with Prompto, checking his vitals and talking about his injuries before leaving the room. Before she leaves, though, she points to a small track in the ceiling.

“It’s a curtain,” she explains, her smile just as sweet but her eyes mischievous. “If you ever need privacy.”

The nurse leaves and about two seconds later, Prompto and Noctis both dissolve into laughter. Noctis climbs back onto the bed, sitting close enough that Prompto rests his head on his shoulder.

“Privacy, huh?” Prompto echoes, laughing. “We could use that, couldn’t we?”

“When you’re better,” Noctis says, trying not to think too hard about how it sounds like a promise. Prompto grins up at him, still blushing. “Until then, I have my memory.”

Prompto smacks his arm, but it’s devoid of any real anger. They sit there, occasionally unable to keep themselves from moving closer and kissing, and by the end of the day, Ignis and Gladio find them asleep.

Prompto’s head is still resting on Noctis’ shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I was away for a while, but I'm back. Back with a vengeance. Here is some more sweetness for you...after which we'll get into the stuff you probably came for. Enjoy!


End file.
